Devil Birds
 

Swift scimitar scythes through the sky,

Inimitable acrobat, a black

Flicker of wings, and a long sweep

Over the church spire, away.

What is it to live in the crystal

Habitat above, the insubstantial

Tide of air? We can always imitate

But not quite gain your intimacy.

On earth we plod, never quite sure

If we are wanted, a burden or a threat,

Every step crushing what we hold dear

Despite ourselves, never quite good enough.

Then we remember the scream of spring,

The dive for the chase, rolling on

Sprung curves, punching the air,

So obviously glad to have got here.

Their love is no different from ours,

The black depths of their devil thoughts

No more intransigent or sad,

No less tenuous their thread of life.

So let us celebrate together in

The tumbril height of a blue sky;

Roll our desires together in a spring day,

Shine for the carnival of the good and the damned.

Shira Twersky-Cassel

Year of the Swift

Cross-cross, mountain swift
dark winged silent-swift descending
to rend transparent firmament
in sacred Sabbath-eve twilight.

You soar over the city weaving
rainbow filament of wounded rose covered hills
of bougainvilla bush and flowering caper
and fired-tongued Moses fern.

Enter and depart the haloed ring of light
that is Jerusalem, with longing hearts
give up great hallelujah screams and shouts,

for you have not chosen lyrical song.
It is stout stamina you long for
and the ecstasy of endless flight,
earned in clamorous delight
of the great and open skies.

Threaded on air, a swift-pair join
in sudden drop to my rooftop. We meet
splintered in time – to part and part again.


© translated from the Hebrew by the poet:
Shira Twersky-Cassel
shiratk@gmail.com
 

Shira Twersky-Cassel

Sparrow and Swift

The plain, the clever Sparrow
walks through the air
turns a corner easy.

The Mountain Swift
cuts across the veils of time
enters our dimension now and then
to take our breath away.

But the Sparrow, the Dror
whose Hebrew name means freedom,
the Dror has chosen Man.


© translated from the Hebrew by the poet:
Shira Twersky-Cassel
shiratk@gmail.com

APUSlist No. 3924

G. Mützel

Source Brehm 1882

Alpensegler (Apus melba) und Mauersegler (Apus apus), ½ natürliche Größe The Alpine Swift and the Common Swift shown at one-half scale

Ruggero Leoncavallo (1857 - 1919)

Pagliacci

Nedda's song

What a fire in his glance!
I lowered my eyes for fear
That he read my secret thoughts.
Oh, if he ever caught me,
Brute that he is! But enough of that,
These are mere fearful and idle dreams.
Oh, beautiful mid-August sun!
And I, bursting with life, languid with desire,
And yet not knowing what it is I long for!
(looks up at the sky)
Oh what a flight of birds, what clamour!
What do they seek? Where do they go? Who knows?
My mother, who foretold the future,
Understood their song and even so
She sang to me as a child.
Hui! How wildly they shout up there,
Launched on their flight like arrows!
They defy storm-clouds and burning sun,
As they fly on and on through the heaven.
Light-thirsty ones, avid for air and splendour,
Let them pursue their journey; they, too,
Follow a dream and a chimera,
Journeying on and on through clouds of gold,
When winds blow and storms howl,
They challenge all with open wings;
Neither rain nor lightning daunts them,
Neither sea nor chasms, as they fly on and on.
They journey towards a strange land yonder,
A land they've dreamt of, which they seek in vain.
Vagabonds of the sky, who obey only
The secret force that drives them on and on.

Wie flammte auf sein Auge!
Ich senkte die Blicke zur Erde, voller Furcht,
dass er mein geheimen Gedanken lesen konne!
Oh, wenn er mich uberraschte,
brutal, wie er ist!
Doch genug, er ist weg.
Diese Gedanken sind furchtbar und wirr!
Oh diese Schone Sonne des Augusts!
Ich bin so voll von Leben und, voll von Sehnen,
geheimen Wunschen, die ich nicht kenne!
Oh! Wie die Vogelein fliegen, und wie sie singen!
Was singen sie? Wohin fliegen sie?
Wer weiss? Meine Mutter,
die die Zukunft weissagen konnte,
verstand ihr Singen und sang zu mir in der Kindheit:
Hui! Hui! Dort oben rufend, frei,
im Fluge sich vergessend, wie Pfeile fliegen die Vogel.
Sie achten weder Wolken noch die strahlende Sonne,
fliegen auf den Wegen des Himmels dahin.
Lass sie durch den Himmel fliegen,
auf der Suche navh Blaue und Glanz;
jeder folgt einem Traum, einem Wunsch,
wenn sie durch goldene Wolken fliegen!
Wie der Wind auch weht unde der Donner rollt,
mit offenen Schwingen trotzen sie allem;
dem Regen, den Blitzen, nichts kann sie aufhalten,
sie fliegen uber Abgrund und Meer.
Sie machen sich auf in ein fremdes Land,
von dem sie traumen und das sie vergebens suchen.
Doch die Wanderer des Himmels
folgen einer geheimen Macht, die sie fortzieht.

A photograph like a painting: A group of Common Swifts flying over the grand landscape of Neustadt an der Weinstraße (Germany)

                                                                                        Published with kind permission of (c) Martin Grund

John Dryden (1666)

Annus Mirabilis No. 110

As in a drought the thirsty creatures cry,
And gape upon the gather'd clouds for rain;
And first the martlet meets it in the sky,
And with wet wings joys all the feather'd train.
 

APUSlist No. 4074

T. Park (1803)

Sonnet. Occasioned by disengaging a Martlet from the jaws of a Cat

Herald of Summer! hapless was the flight
From thy mud hermitage or chimnied cell,
To skim the streamlet where, since dawn of light,
In the long spear-grass lurk'd grimalkin fell;
For while in airy cirque thy rapid wing
Fann'd the young swarms that hover near the flood,
Yon dark assassin, at one deadly spring,
Fix'd his strong talons in thy innocent blood!
Nor ever can thy shatter'd pinion tower
To milder climes when wintry white-frosts chill,
Nor hither flit at April's balmy hour
To mould thy matted nest with plastic bill:-
Like some sad alien from Gallia's shore,
Here wert thou exil'd, to return no more!
 

APUSlist No. 4066

P. Whittle (1831)

Birds - Aves

Ye birds that fly thro' the fields of air,
What lessons of truth and wisdom ye bear;
Ye would teach our souls from the earth to rise,
Ye would bid us its grovelling scenes despise.
Ye would tell us that all its pursuits are vain,
That pleasure is toil - ambition is pain,
That its bliss is touched with a poisoning leaven.
Ye would teach us to fix our aim on heaven.
 

APUSlist No. 4321

John Clare (1793-1864)
 

Northborough Sonnet
 

The develing black as coal comes out at night
& flyes above the village out of sight
They build in holes & straws & feathers fetch
& build above the tallest ladders reach
They make a nest like sparrows & more high
& build where sparrows seldom care to flye
They fly above the swallows far away
& never seem to settle all the day
They build where few can seldom get for fear
& keep the self same hole from year to year
Yet boys will dare where danger cannot rest
& walk upon the slates & get the nest
Ive never seen the eggs but hear them say
Theyre spotted like the sparrows white & grey

APUSlist No. 3023

Contributed by Edward Mayer

Robert Jackson (2011)
 

Message to the Swifts

You are late!

Three weeks ago I saw you in Lisbon

Flying low like Spitfires,

Weaving through the old city.

But you are late in Leamington!

Fewer of you,

Wheeling and squealing,

High over my tiny garden.

You are June Leamingtonians.

Thirty three summers I’ve seen you,

Dive-bombing eaves,

Decelerating into nests

Soon, you will fly non-stop

Over sea and desert,

Refuelling in flight,

To Gabarone maybe?

Your sorties lift spirits;

Minimising distance,

Converging time and place,

Punctuating life.

© Robert Jackson

APUSlist No. 4929

Contributed by Robert Jackson

Rory McGrath

from Bearded Tit

For me a bird should be built not for the ground or the sea, but for the sky, and there is perhaps one such bird. This bird belongs to the sky. or perhaps the sky belongs to this bird. I'm sure that God, having gone to the trouble of creating the sky realised he needed at least one of his creatures to be at home there. Or perhaps after creating the bird, God realised that he would have to create sky especially for it. The Swift.
 

APUSlist No. 4931

Contributed by Bill Henderson

Ted Hughes (1930-1998)

from Tales of the Early World

God threw up his hands gently and opened them. A peculiar black shape whizzed out of them. Sparrow blinked. He thought God had thrown a boomerang at him. It seemed to be black spinning blades going at a terrific speed, and dived straight at Sparrow, then:
 
Fffffwwwt! It whacked past his head and shot up into the sky - just like a boomerang. It was a real bird. God stood laughing softly with joy, as the bird spun away into the world. Sparrow could see he was almost weeping, his eyes were moist, as if he could hardly believe what he saw. "I did it! I made a Swift!"
 

APUSlist No. 4932
Contributed by Bill Henderson

                                                                                                                   Photo Bernard Genton

Bernard Genton

Soie noire et arabesques

Somptueux soir de juin, ciel orange, toits violines

L’air est liqueur de roses, comme nuit de Toulouse

Puis un tressaillement … qui viendrait des collines …

Ils sont cinq, ils sont six, ils sont dix, ils sont douze        

Telles des arbalètes leurs ailes trouent l’espace

De ruelle en ruelle au-dessus de l’impasse

Leur corps n’est qu’une ligne, courbe unique, épurée

Aux tons fuligineux, silhouette racée 

Leur troupe sarabande, bondit et s’arabesque

Elle effleure les mansardes, turbulence dantesque

Leurs cris strient les airs en sifflements vibrants

Leur chemin n’est que souffle, ivresse, frémissement

Puis ils jaillissent en gerbes, en volutes et en vrilles

Gravissent les nuages, palpitante escadrille

Comme une fulgurance d’étoiles de soie noire

Pour dormir dans les cieux, sublime reposoir.

APUSlist No. 4930

Abbie Hart

Swifts